DREAMS that should have DIED
by MycroftsAngelEyes
Summary: WIP. Not too sure where this is going to go. 00Q fic. Will be sex, angst, porn etc. Oh and a mission from the new M...
1. Prologue

**A/N: Well, I've decided to start writing a fic. 00Q has invaded my brain big time. I'm not sure where this is going yet, I'm trying not to limit it tbh, but I do know there will be Bond/Q, a mission, some chaos and quite a bit of sexy times…**

**..**

**..**

**PROLOGUE**

**..**

The first time they meet is at the museum in front of that extravagant painting depicting a 'bloody big ship' in a rather melancholic manner; the pale pastel colours lacking warmth and comfort as the cracked oil paint reflects the halogen lighting raining down from above. The sounds of shuffling feet, quiet mumblings and ramblings of individuals hoping, wrongly, that visiting this behemoth of a building heralding the age of Victorian architecture will provide them with a sense of sophistication, of enlightenment that they sorely lack. Of course, the noise means little to the two gentlemen sat before that despondent ship forever known through the work of an old painter facing the horrors of his own mortality. Poetic justice perhaps that the two observed the pale hues, the finality of the 'old ways' and the birth of the 'new' in the painting reflected a distorted image of the men.

The look the younger of the two receives upon his introduction is nothing short of ludicrous disbelief, with perhaps a hint of disgust at the 'obvious' decline of MI-6 since the elder's 'death'. It is a measure of character however that the younger of the pair does not react with anger, behaving like an offended peacock as those who are doubted are wont to do; a silly action most assuredly but also an assuredly predictable, _human_ one nonetheless. Instead, he responds with a light quip defining his skills and just how competent he truly is in this world of technology and code that has steadfastly replaced the era of direct action and agency co-operation in espionage.

Perhaps it is the calm assurance of his own abilities that he exudes, or maybe the lack of arrogance colouring his words that causes the elder of the pair to consider him more carefully, thoughtfully. To withhold making another rash assumption and taking a moment to study the one beside him, take in the manner in which he sits, the way his eyes shin with muted amusement, to realise that there is more to the youthful man beside him than he'd initially observed. Whatever it is that is seen, that is discovered, it doesn't stop the elder from throwing another barb at him, committing to their verbal sparring with a witty par and lunge at the younger's falsely revealed weakness.

The two are locked in a battle of wit, though their own stubborn nature's peak out from beneath the armour adorning them; one's a grey suit of expensive taste, the other's horn-rimmed glasses and raincoat. To the casual observer it appears as though the two are merely disagreeing over their respective interpretations of the painting before them; of the _Temeraire_. Of course, such a casual observer would be correct, but only in the barest sense of the term, for it is not the painting itself that they disagree over but rather what it represents; for them both most especially. They could continue with their battle of repertoire's all day but they have duties to attend to, their meeting was not by chance and has a primary purpose; besides the obvious introductory reason.

They exit the National Gallery at different times, the elder alone, the younger slipping amongst the throngs of a high school art class visiting the gallery for educational purposes. It is a simple conclusion to their initial meeting and marks the first occasion that James Bond, notorious double-oh of Her Majesty's Secret Service, meets the Quartermaster, head of Q-branch at MI-6 and primary technical support for the double-oh's.

Both can sense the charge in the air, the scent of change. And, with baited breath, they wait to see what the week will bring.

**..**

**..**

**To be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Apologies, I did want to make this longer but 1) I'm impatient, 2) my fingers are going numb, and 3) I have college in seven hours and I wanted to post something before then.**

**CHAPTER ONE**

It was nearly a week after the events at Skyfall before Bond was seen in MI-6 but, it had been fourteen-point-two days since Q had last seen the double-oh. Each day had ticked by, slowly – oh so slowly – as Q had sought to occupy himself with his work; re-designing the security firewalls, creating new encryption codes that surpassed even his own earlier feats; anything to stop himself from thinking about Ja- anything to stop him from thinking _at all_.

But, alas, the problem of having an intellect as large as the one Q possessed makes it difficult to not think; thinking is a natural reaction afterall, an impossible thing to cease or control only direct. Misdirecting his mind to creating new things was normally a sure-fire way for Q to forget about all that surrounded him, whether it be the sounds of a raging father, a terrified child, or a dying mentor.

Only… it _wasn't working._

With every movement of his hands, with every breath he took into his tired body, with every blink of his sea-green eyes, his mind would flit from one thought to the next; from memory to memory. His past warring with his life now. Inputting simple commands became a lesson in restraint; can he keep himself from flinching at the shadow-cries that echo still in his ear drums? Can he control his breathing every time his fingers pause over the arrow keys as he remembers the sound of silence that had pressed down upon him as he waited valiantly for the sounds of life at Skyfall? Can he handle the time that it takes for Bond to return to HQ without breaking down himself?

Luckily for the poor, nearly-at-the-end-of-his-tether Quartermaster, the first person who actually laid eyes upon Bond was he himself; hurrying through the standard entry procedures in order to reach Q-branch before one of the new interns blew something up – always a legitimate concern with new personnel, Q could _vividly_ recall his first day at the SIS; it involved bubblegum, a pen and strangely enough mangoes. Passing Harold, the latest in a long-string of security personnel employed to man the x-ray detector, with barely a mumbled 'hello' passing from his lips, it took the Quartermaster literally walking into Bond's back to realise the prodigal son of MI6 had returned.

So much for being a genius with excellent observational skills…

"Q." Bond acknowledged the Quartermaster currently sprawled on the floor after having lost his battle with gravity – Bond had turned so suddenly that Q had already _thrown_ himself away from the double-oh, partly in fear for his life, partly from surprise, before the young Quartermaster had processed who he'd walked into. "Not even back an hour and already you've found me."

Q, for all the surprise and embarrassment he felt at his stupid – _so bloody stupid_ – inability to pay attention to his surroundings, quickly stood up, dusted off his trousers and fixed his glasses even though they weren't skewed. He then focused his attention on the double-oh, Q took in the sharp, tailored suit that clung to the well-toned form of the six foot man – death hadn't damaged double-oh-seven's physique as much as it had his stamina apparently – as well as the cleanly-shaven face with those iron-clad eyes of stormy grey that could strike fear into the hearts of even the most hardy of men.

"Apologies double-oh-seven, I was in a hurry." Q explained as he quickly scooped up the, thankfully, reinforced tablet pc he'd been carrying. "I'm afraid I didn't see you." He finished rather lamely as his gaze briefly locked with the double-oh.

"Worried one of you minions is planning on taking your job Q?" Bond taunted, soft amusement colouring his voice, as he observed the light blush that had broken out across the young Quartermaster's face. It was mightily endearing for the aged double-oh to see the youthful innocence of the head of Q-branch; even if it did remind him of all that he'd lost.

"They wouldn't last five minutes double-oh-seven." Q responded immediately, the pair of them beginning to walk in the direction of the lift that would permit them access to the main level of MI6. "The paperwork is torturous." He added, quirking his lips slightly, as Bond smirked in amusement at the Quartermaster's response.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, until they reached the lift and found it was out of service – a parting gift from Silva apparently that no-one had bothered to resolve.

"I suppose it's the stairs." Q murmured softly as he held back a sigh, he really did need to get down to Q-branch and the myriad of distractions weren't helping him in his efforts. Bond didn't verbally respond to Q's words, choosing instead to turn sharply and make his way towards the stairs that would lead down to Churchill's bunker – and then to the secondary level which was the main level of MI6; it was all quite complicated really, the plan of the new HQ.

By the time Q had reached the secondary level Bond had disappeared, having blended in with the other agents in the area – or more likely the shadows themselves, Q thought – thus leaving the Quartermaster to continue on to Q-branch with no further interruptions.

It was the last lull in Q's life for the immediate future.

**..**

For once in his life, James Bond was able to curb his impulses just in time to stop himself from barging through the door into M's office; his mind screaming at him at the last minute that the M he knew was _dead_ and a shadowy-puppet had replaced her gargantuan presence. Eve was sat at the desk opposite Bond, who, strangely enough, had elected to seat himself away from her with, not surprisingly, a direct line-of-sight to the two main entry points into the room; the door he'd just walked through and the door to M's office just to Eve's left.

The last time Bond had spoken to the new M, he'd just returned from Skyfall with the body of his predecessor wrapped in black plastic not two feet from him. Their conversation had been brief, essentially comprising of 'Silva has been neutralised' and 'good, get some rest double-oh-seven'. It was too short a meeting for Bond to get a real read on the successor to his M, most especially considering he'd been in shock – not that he'd admitted that to the shrink they'd had evaluate him – but Bond didn't let that deter him. He was here to work, he was here to serve Queen-and-Country even if his own personal Queen was now dead and buried.

The door to M's office – now blacked out to provide additional privacy, and security – opened as Tanner emerged from the room, his suit almost blending in with the décor of the bunker.

"You can go in now Bond." Tanner called as he looked briefly at the double-oh, who nodded and rose from his seat, as he walked over to Eve's desk and handed her a small pile of hand-written notes. "M wants these checking Moneypenny."

"Thank you Tanner." Eve smiled as she took the papers from the agent. "I'll have them done by this evening." She assured as she discretely watched double-oh-seven enter the lion's den that had recently lost its lion.

Tanner, realising that Eve's attention was divided, turned and watched as Bond shut the door to M's office after him, effectively shutting out the rest of MI6 for the duration of their meeting.

"He's been reinstated hasn't he?" Tanner asked Eve curiously. He was sure Bond had been reinstated just last week.

Eve nodded. "Yes. But I'm not sure he's really ready to go back out in the field just yet." Eve said quietly, her words coloured slightly with the concern she felt for the double-oh. After her accidental shooting of double-oh-seven, she'd grown far more invested in his missions, and general well-being – though that was mostly due to a little side-note in the previous M's will that asked for their best asset to be taken care of.

"Of course he is. If he wasn't he wouldn't be here." Tanner tried to reassure the ex-field agent. "He's double-oh-seven. He's too dedicated to go out in the field when he's not all there."

Eve wasn't so sure.

3


End file.
